


(No) Tomorrow

by whiteshores



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Post-Break Up, Unhappy Ending, this is your warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25199260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteshores/pseuds/whiteshores
Summary: Don’t say that the sun will rise tomorrowBecause it will be a darker morning than a night with you
Relationships: Past Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	(No) Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scoups_ahoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoups_ahoy/gifts).



> Inspired by Tomorrow by Tablo.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I gaze at the ceiling, awaiting the sound of my alarm, alerting me to the start of another day. Another day. So I made it to tomorrow after all. I didn’t think that I would make it this far. 

Brown eyes remain open, but they’re unseeing. Blind to the gray chipped ceiling. 

It feels so empty, so cold. I’ve gotten used to burrowing under numerous blankets, at your insistence that it was always too cold. Even now I still use them. They’re piled up on top of me, creating a mountain of warmth, but they don’t give comfort like they used to. The weight of them doesn’t register in my brain. It feels like nothing. I feel nothing. 

When did the pain turn to numbness? 

_Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiing._

I turn to face my phone resting on the bedside table. My neck feels stiff, even this small movement takes a large amount of energy that I don’t have. Muscles shout in protest as I reach to silence my alarm. I wince as my phone shines in my face. The light is too harsh, too bright. Although, I don’t think anything could compare to the brightness of your smile. 

When my eyes adjust, I squint at the screen, frowning as those glowing words mock me. They read today’s date, a new day. I made it to tomorrow, but at what cost? 

It’s hard to resist the urge to drag my gaze lower, below those burning letters, but I could never keep my eyes off you. I still can’t. 

I see your smiling face, bright as the morning sun. Happy and joyful, as you always should be. That smile used to make butterflies burst in my chest, but now they’re long gone. My heart is empty now. Only the shattered pieces of chrysalis remain in this hollow cavern. Those butterflies have fled with the wind that swept you away. This place is not a home for them anymore. They’re never coming back. 

Jihoon said I should change my lockscreen. _“It’s not good for you,”_ he said, eyes full of pity. Maybe he’s right. But when have I ever listened to the words of the wise? 

With a sigh, I manage to pull myself out of bed. My body aches with the heaviness in my chest, but I push through it. It’s okay, I can get through it. At least, that’s what everyone tells me. I’m not sure if I believe them. 

A glance in the bathroom mirror tells me a different message. I’m reminded of why I try to avoid mirrors now. 

The man staring back at me is not one whom I recognize. Dark circles mirroring the dark recesses of my mind and thoughts that threaten to overtake me. Eye bags a reflection of countless sleepless nights, the maddening insomnia. Hairs on my chin grown past the point of “stubble”, prickly like the numbness that has spread like a plague from my heart to the rest of my body. A few pimples have popped up here and there, a reminder of my many imperfections. Hair an absolute disaster, my world ever since you’ve left it. I’ve been in need of a haircut for some time, but at this point I don’t see the point in getting one.

You would have never let me get to this point. As soon as that first blemish appeared you would have made a fuss over it, recommending hundreds of treatments and asking if there’s anything wrong. I didn’t know stress pimples were a thing, but you were adamant about them, insisting that they were real. I miss the whining and the nagging. When someone used to check in to make sure I was okay. 

But what’s most concerning is not the mop of hair on my head nor the imperfections that have made their debut on marred skin. No, it is the loss of suppleness in my cheeks and the way my skin clings to my too prominent collar bones. I look like a ghost of the man I used to be. 

I remember when I used to fuss over you and tried encouraging you to eat more, to exercise, to try gaining weight. You called me a health nut, but you complied as best as you could. It’s ironic how our roles would be reversed if you were still here. 

_“What would you do without me?”_ You asked once. 

_“I’d be lost without you.”_ I replied. 

_“That’s right, you would.”_ You said with a cheeky grin.

Well, we were both right. 

With a heavy sigh, I get to work. Brushing my teeth, washing my face, cleaning up the mess that has grown on my chin. It feels very mechanical, like I’m out of my body watching as I make myself look more presentable. For who, I don’t know. 

There’s only ever been one. 

Surprisingly, I only manage to knick myself twice with the razor. It doesn’t phase me either time. Instead of wincing, I stare, with something akin to fascination as red bubbles on my skin. When I reach up to touch it, my finger comes back red. 

Red. 

_“You know, red is such a sexy color.”_

_“Is it?”_

_“Yes. It symbolizes love, passion.”_

_“Mmm.”_

_“Fury, anger, danger, pain.”_

_“What?”_

_“Red is such a sexy color.” A lingering kiss. “It suits you. You should wear it more often.”_

Somehow, I end up wearing a red suit. Your favorite, actually. Pressed velvet with custom-made gold cufflinks. Angel wings. You said they were pretty. 

It doesn’t fit as well as it used to. The blazer is too roomy and it hangs awkwardly on a frame that no longer fills it. Giant gaps that serve as a reminder of the spaces that you used to fill. 

I decide to leave it unbuttoned, my weight loss isn’t as obvious this way. A silk black dress shirt (no tie, as you always insisted) and matching red slacks. I never thought I would need to use the last notch on my belt. Well, there’s a lot of things I never thought would happen. 

After a few last touches, I grab my keys and wallet and leave the apartment. One that’s been without the other tennant for far too long. 

My first stop is the hair salon. Minghao is surprised to see me. I don’t blame him. He practically runs to me and asks if I’m okay. I give him plenty of reassurances and grace him with a smile. The reassurances are empty and my smile is dead. 

It seems to placate him for now. If anything, he seems pleased to see that I’ve made it out of the house for the first time in three months on my own free will. He’s doubly pleased to see me not wearing a crummy T-shirt and sweats. 

Whisking me away to one of the salon chairs, he sits me down and asks what kind of hair style I want.

_“What he would like the most,”_ I almost say.

Instead, I tell him to do what he thinks would suit me best. He smiles and promises he’ll have me looking as handsome as ever. 

An hour later, that would have been true if my health was as it had been previously. But despite my tragic complexion, I must admit that Minghao created a miracle. I haven’t looked this put together in quite some time. 

I’m speechless and he looks proud of himself. 

When I’m at the counter, he insists that it’s on him, but I don’t allow it. When I place the wad of bills down, he’s grumbling and about to get change, when I tell him it won’t be necessary. 

There’s a pause and he looks at me with wide, questioning eyes. He tells me it’s too much, and it is. It's nearly three times what the salon normally charges. I brush it off, telling him it’s as a thank you for being a good friend and helping fix the mess of my hair. He looks hesitant and I leave before he digs too deep. 

I can still feel his sad eyes gazing at my back as the little bell twinkles when I leave the building. 

The second destination is the flower shop. Wonwoo looks just as surprised as Minghao, but he’s less vocal about it. It’s more questioning gazes and worried glances as I make my way around the store. 

My feet naturally lead me to the purple roses, your favorite. 

_“These ones are my favorite!”_

_“Hmm? Why these ones?”_

_“They’re pretty!”_

_“Haha I guess they are. Although, not as pretty as you.”_

_“Y-you— Well, you’re right, but that’s not the point.”_

_“Oh? Then, what is the point?”_

_“Flowers symbolize things, you know?”_

_“And what do purple roses symbolize?”_

_“Well, the lighter ones represent love at first sight.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“And the darker ones… they represent a deep, everlasting love.”_

I ask Wonwoo to make a bouquet of purple roses. He seems hesitant about it, but does so anyway. As he’s picking some out, another group of flowers catch my eye. 

I ask him to add cyclamens to the bundle and that makes the florist pause. He turns to look at me with wide eyes and cautiously suggests adding a different flower instead. I wear an innocent expression, asking why I can’t add the cyclamens. They’re pretty and would look nice with the roses. At such a simple, shallow explanation, he nods and carefully adds a few to the bouquet. However, he’s still wary and sends more worried glances as I peruse the store. There’s no other flowers I would consider adding. 

At the checkout, it’s another large wad of cash and Wonwoo panics more than Minghao did. There’s fear in his eyes and he’s asking if everything is okay. I try brushing it off with a laugh, and pass it off as an accident. He hands me the exact change and hesitates before handing me the bouquet. Once again, he asks if I’m feeling okay and if I need help with anything. More empty reassurances pass my lips without a second thought. Another empty smile that I know he doesn’t believe. 

With great resignation, he hands me the bouquet and I’m out the door. I leave the change in an empty pot on the way out.

The third destination is some place I haven’t been to in quite some time. Last time I was here, the security guard threatened to arrest me for loitering and harassing one of the residents. Luckily, you were able to clear my name, but under the condition that I would stop visiting. That was months ago and I’m sorry to break my promise now. But this time won’t be the same. 

With a heavy sigh, I make my way up the staircase and down the hall to where you’ve been living for the past year. I contemplate knocking on the door, but decide against it. Instead, I leave the bouquet at your doorstep.

It’s a quiet drive back to the apartment, a place where I’ve been living but haven’t called home in so long. 

I leave my keys on the counter and pass the calendar that’s a year behind. Every day feels the same, there’s no point in fixing. My world still hasn’t changed; you’re still not there. I tried, I really did, but it was pointless. 

People said that it would get better, that I would eventually be able to look back and laugh. They said that if I moved on, I would be able to forget all of this. If I loved someone else, I would be able to replace my old one with a new one. Time would eventually heal everything.

But it didn’t. 

It didn’t get better. I don’t remember the last time I laughed. I’m still living in that moment from a year ago; I haven’t been able to forget. I haven’t been able to love someone else. Not like how I loved you. Every date with someone else somehow felt lonelier than that the night when you walked away. No one has been able to fill the chasm you left behind. 

You said my heart could bloom again for someone else, but it never did. It withered and died without your love. 

Every day feels the same. Empty, cold, and numb. I’m breathing, but I’m not living. Every moment feels like I’m struggling to swim to the surface, but every time I make it, another wave of sadness drowns me. It’s overwhelming. It feels like a slow cruel death. When will I reach it? 

I glance down at the weapon in my hands. A silent tear falls onto black metal. I didn’t know I still had tears left to cry. 

With a shaky breath, I lift it up and press the cold barrel to my cold, empty heart. 

The sun won’t rise tomorrow.

_BANG!_

**Author's Note:**

> Cyclamens are a symbol of resignation and goodbye. 
> 
> Thank you to [bonnieanonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonnieanonnie/pseuds/bonnieanonnie) for being the first to suffer.  
> Feedback is appreciated as always :)


End file.
